tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-124085622017-06-21T22:33:01.378-04:00the ghost of minty hattonAhvarahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05020487813867165641noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12408562.post-75983334768926960022013-03-19T07:15:00.000-04:002013-05-22T21:18:22.047-04:00miss valentine
Tucker Tom walked my brother and me the mile and a half to school for according to Ma, we couldn’t be trusted, and besides, the civil unrest in Northern Ireland –what we called ‘The Troubles’– was two years old and about to enter a prolific period of murder and violence. Two years was enough for most people to be already accustomed to The Troubles, and most kids our age –me five, my brother Ahvarahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05020487813867165641noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12408562.post-30705796275513048892013-02-27T21:16:00.000-05:002013-05-22T21:19:07.080-04:00The Science of Sameness
The conversation to accompany the rich Italian food was proper chirpy, boasting of the good things in life, and while we gulped at a Chianti that worked (sometimes they don't), a sentence started by one was finished by another without feeling like interruption. It was the sort of occasion often punctuated with darted comments like "isn't life great?" which was strange, for we had just returned Ahvarahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05020487813867165641noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12408562.post-57124364395122397912012-10-20T18:25:00.000-04:002013-05-22T21:08:18.862-04:00Crossings<!--[if gte mso 9]>
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The
following is a written account of actual events. And just because I’m telling
you this story doesn’t mean I survived. There are many ways to die, many things
to crush us, empty our innards, and turn us into the hollow walking dead.
It all
came together as I searched for the source of a mysterious sound in the
basement of my condemned house. IAhvarahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05020487813867165641noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12408562.post-81979565748656508802012-09-28T21:26:00.000-04:002013-05-22T21:27:19.888-04:00scienceAhvarahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05020487813867165641noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12408562.post-20901277437301500592007-11-02T21:01:00.000-04:002015-09-06T11:23:41.639-04:00O’Malley’s Reprisal
“Is this us?” she said.
“Are you a guessing person?” he replied.
There is not much to guess to be truthful. It is North Station, Boston, 06:51:38 PM. There are nine empty platforms and only one that entertains a train: Track 8. Some of those that are waiting have made the obvious assumption and have started to board the train already. The others, including O’Malley, stand swapping glances fromAhvarahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05020487813867165641noreply@blogger.com9